


Blood and Monsters

by aTasteofCaramell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Gen, James Potter is a Good Friend, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), POV Sirius Black, Runaway Sirius Black, Young James Potter, Young Sirius Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 14:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18875401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aTasteofCaramell/pseuds/aTasteofCaramell
Summary: One night in June, the Black family has a violent argument. An hour later, 16-year-old Sirius Black arrives at James Potter's doorstep--bloody, filthy, penniless, and completely pissing drunk.This is the night he ran away.





	Blood and Monsters

“Mum and Dad want to talk to you.”

“Damn.” Sirius opened one eye from his bed. “Thought I could get knocked out before now.” He sat up and took a sip from the nearly-empty beer bottle in his hand.

Regulus didn’t leave his doorway. He stared transfixed at the large pin-up Sirius had fixed to the ceiling just a few days prior.

“Tell you what, I’ll save everybody time.”  Sirius raised his voice to a shrill pitch, “ _Sirius Black, you are in big trouble young man!_ ” He lowered his voice to its usual tones, “I really don’t care, Mum. _You are a disgrace to the name of Black!_ In other news, the sky is blue. _If only you had been Sorted properly, none of this would have happened! You would have carried on the family legacy with Regulus!_ Slytherin’s not a legacy, Mum, it’s a house, and if the hat hadn’t put me in Gryffindor I’d have set it on fire. So, really, everybody wins.” Sirius swiped his hair back from his face, feeling it still tangled with leaves and grim, and worse. He took another drink. “There you go, go on and tell them I gave myself a talking-to.” He eyed his brother. “Like my Muggle pictures, do you, Reg?”

Regulus jerked his gaze away from the pin-ups. “No, I don’t!” he said quickly, glancing over his shoulder as if checking to see if their mother had heard, and his voice became much more vicious. “You’ve been out with those Scumscuckers again, haven’t you?” 

Sirius lowered the bottle. “Mum and Dad call my friends names, but you’re better than that, Reg. And no, I was out with much worse. Muggles, actually.” Regulus took a hasty step backwards, like Sirius had just said he’d been out with victims suffering from Dragon Pox. “All it takes is a few Confundus Charms and a full blast of my natural charm, and they’ll buy me whatever I want. Case in point.” He shook the now-empty bottle. “This Muggle stuff’s not bad, you know.”

“Come downstairs,” Regulus said, not looking at him. “Or they’ll come up.”

“To this den of debauchery? I doubt it.”

“Sirius, I mean it! They’re really angry.” He took another step away from the door.

“REGULUS!” Their mother’s voice screamed from downstairs, and Regulus cringed. “BRING SIRIUS! NOW!”

“Please,” Regulus whispered.

The fear in his brother’s posture sent anger surging through him. “Fine.” Sirius stood. “Where are they?”

“Drawing room.”

“Excellent. I can get a refill then.” Sirius threw his empty bottle in the general direction of the overflowing wastebasket, drew his wand, and pushed past his little brother. He went down the steps to the first floor and threw open the door to the drawing room.

His mother whirled. “SIRIUS BLACK, YOU ARE IN BIG TROUBLE YOUNG MAN!”

He winced and held up a finger. “Hold on.” Sirius brushed past her, opened the cabinet, and dug around until he found a crystal bottle. He uncorked it and took a large swallow. He coughed as it went down. “There we go.”

Orion appeared at his side, reaching for the bottle. “You insolent little—”

Sirius stepped away. “Lay off, Dad.” He drank again. The liquor burned in a horribly painful, satisfying way. It was rum, concentrated and perfect, and definitely not intended to be drunk straight from its decorative encasing. He turned and gave a short bow with a twirl of his wand. “Proceed.”

“Its past midnight!” exclaimed Walburga. “Back with your, clothes dirty, drunk and spattering—”

“Tipsy,” corrected Sirius. “Not nearly drunk enough to make this conversation bearable.”

“--hair matted with dirt and—”

“Shit I think, actually,” Sirius said. “It’s hard to remember though.”

“Mind your language!” snarled Walburga. “You were meant to come to dinner with us at your cousins! Where have you been?”

“Killing time away from here.” Sirius grinned. “Believe me, I’d rather spend all my hours as a stray dog lying in a gutter somewhere than eat dinner with you people.”

Walburga turned up the volume. “YOU ARE AN EMBARRASSMENT! A DISGRACE! IT’S BAD ENOUGH YOU ASSOCIATE WITH FILTH, BAD ENOUGH YOU BRING HOME MUGGLE PICTURES AND OBSESS OVER MUCK! HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH OUR GOOD NAME WITH YOUR FOOLISHNESS!”

“How dare you curse me with such a name,” said Sirius dryly.

“CURSE!” his mother screamed. Regulus edged his way into the room, looking very much like he’d rather be elsewhere. Sirius winked at him. “WE’VE GIVEN YOU YOUR BLOOD, YOU THANKLESS BRAT, AND YOU SO WILLINGLY LIE IN THE MUD TO HIDE IT! THE ONLY STATUS SYMBOL THAT MATTERS IN THE LONG RUN, THE ONLY THING THAT IS KEEPING YOU SAFE IN THIS WAR, THE ONLY THING PROTECTING YOU DESPITE YOUR DETERMINED ASSOCIATION WITH TRASH—”

“Trash?” Sirius took another drink. “I don’t know what you mean, Mother Dear.”

“YOU KNOW PERFECTLY WELL!”  Walburga screamed. “THAT DUNGLICKER AND THAT HALF-BREED—”

Sirius choked on the alcohol. “ _Half-breed?_ ” he exclaimed, coughing. “ _Half-breed?”_

A look of triumph passed over Walburga’s face, and Sirius immediately regretted letting her know that she’d hit a nerve. “Half-breed,” she repeated, no longer screaming. “Belly-crawler, carrion-eater, dumpster-dweller—”

BANG. Sirius didn’t remember raising his wand, but Walburga leapt back with a screech, holding her hand to her chest, a large welt raising along the back. He was shouting. “YOU DON’T CALL REMUS A HALF-BREED! YOU DON’T!”

_CRACK!_ Sirius’s head slammed into the ground, eyes streaming, skull ringing. Orion had struck him. Regulus dashed forward and stood in front of Walburga, holding his own wand in both hands, pointing it towards Sirius with his eyes large and frightened.

“HOW DARE YOU ATTACK YOUR OWN MOTHER!” Orion shouted.

Liquor spilled from the bottle. Sirius snatched it up again, staggered back to his feet, growling like the dog he sometimes was. “He’s more human than the whole lot of you!” He stood there, panting, glaring at Regulus. “What, are you going to curse me? Go ahead and try, Regulus, you prat.”

“Regulus is our saving grace!” Walburga gasped, massaging her hand. “You ought to get on your knees and thank him, beg him to forgive you, it’s him who repairs the damage you do every day—”

“Want to know what I heard today, Regulus?” Sirius demanded. “Peggy Miller died today. Want to know why? _Accident_ , they said, in Muggle newspapers. Car crash. Know what really happened? Death Eaters. Her whole family, going on holiday.”

Regulus continued staring. Walburga and Orion, for some reason, both turned and looked at their younger son. “So?” Regulus said at last, his voice high and tight.

“So? She was in your year, Regulus! Ravenclaw! Smart as a whip, cleverer than you. You had classes with her. You _knew_ her. And now she’s _dead_.”

Regulus’s wand shook. “She…she wasn’t my friend!”

If he said it enough, maybe he would understand. Maybe. “She’s _dead_ , Reg!”

Walburga and Orion looked very intently at Regulus. His gaze quickly darted to them, then back. He burst out, “I don’t care! She was a mudblood! I don’t care!”

Sirius moaned. His stomach churned. “No, Reg, _no._ ”

“It h-had to happen!” Regulus cried. “P-Purges—they happen—have to—the war—”

 “See!” cried Walburga triumphantly. “Regulus has so much more sense than you.”

“You _monsters_.” Sirius groaned, and then he laughed, looking to his father, his brother. “You arrogant toad, you weak-willed, brainwashed twat. And you…” He looked to his mother. “You…psychotic… _hag._ ”

“YOU IDIOT, CARELESS, UNGRATEFUL CHILD! WE’VE GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING YOU HAVE! YOU ARE BLESSED WITH MAGIC BECAUSE OF US, AND THIS IS THE THANKS WE GET?”

Sirius was laughing, inanely. “Thanks for _nothing_ , you nauseating, abhorrent trio. This stuff?” He turned and punched the glass of the cabinet. His fist bounced off. He steeled himself, struck it again, crashed his fist through it. Blood sprayed from his knuckles. The glass sliced through his palm. He flung his hand out, flinging his blood towards them. It sprinkled the floor, their clothing, Regulus’s horrified expression. He laughed again, speaking into their stunned silence. “This blood? You’ve cursed me with yourselves, cursed me with misery in this house rotting with Dark magic, cursed me with the most disgusting label you could have given me, but no matter, you’ve given me _purity._ Worthless as it is. If I could replace it with Muggle blood, forget the magic and the rest and be done with you, I would. So thanks for nothing, you barbarians who think killing and enslavement are the solutions to everything. Thanks for _nothing_.”

“SILENCE!” Walburga screamed. “YOU SHALL NOT LEAVE THIS HOUSE AS LONG AS YOU SPEAK TO US IN SUCH FILTHY LANGUAGE! YOU SHALL STAY CONFINED UNTIL WE RID YOU OF SUCH THOUGHTS! WE WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO CONTAMINATE OUR AIR WITH YOUR SLOBBERING SAVAGERY—”

“I’m leaving,” Sirius interrupted. His hand was throbbing, the cuts much deeper than he’d intended. He was satisfied. “I’m done. I’m through.” He wiped his hand across his face, felt the filthy, cursed blood coating his skin and headed to the door. “I’m through with the lot of you.”

“You shall _not_.” Orion blocked the doorway.

Sirius held up his wand. “Get out of my way, Father.”

“SIRIUS!” Walburga shouted. “COME BACK HERE, THIS INSTANT—”

_“Petrificus totalus.”_ He pushed Orion over, stepped over his body, ran up the stairs, clutching both the bottle and his wand. As he threw everything into the trunk, he heard Walburga screeching downstairs.

“STOP HIM, ORION! THE SHAME, THE SHAME! WE’LL NEVER RECOVER, THE SHAME—OUR OWN SON, LEAVING—WE WON’T BEAR IT! WE CAN’T! THE SHAME!”

His blood pulsed in his arm with each beat of his infuriated heart. He didn’t think, he didn’t hesitate. His movements were jerky. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this. He paused and burned his throat with more liquor. He left the walls—left his Gryffindor banners and motorbikes and bikini-clad Muggle girl pictures. He’d leave his room just as it was, leave it with its Permanent Sticking Charms, and they’d never have use of it again. They were leaving his life forever, but he’d always be around to haunt them. To haunt Reg.

_Regulus._

He went back into the hall, swaying a little, fighting to keep his feet through the haze as the rum began to hit his bloodstream. Walburga was still screaming, deep in the house somewhere. He stomped down the stairs, not bothering trying to be quiet. A small of burning hair and plastic hit him like a wave at the first floor. He stopped short, suddenly feeling dizzy, and looked to the drawing room. A short trail of smoke wafted from it.

“Well,” he said in a voice that came out cold and flat and dead. “She didn’t waste any time.” Then he turned and went down to the ground floor. Regulus was standing by the door, arms wrapped around himself.

He whispered, “Are you really leaving?”

Sirius stopped. “She burned me off. Didn’t you watch?”

Regulus took a deep breath. “It’s better than you deserve.” But his voice was shaking, and he didn’t look Sirius in the eye. “If…” he seemed to struggle with himself, then burst out, “If you leave, they won’t let you come back.”

“Good. If I never see the inside of these walls again it’ll be too soon.” Sirius took another drink, studying him. “Come with me.”

Regulus blanched, and he looked frantically about him. “Don’t say that! I would _never_ run away!”

Sirius gritted his teeth. “You listen to me. Assuming my little brother still has some sort of sense. Don’t listen to them.” He reached out, prodded Regulus’s forehead with a bloody thumb. Regulus ducked away from him. “Get out. If you ever wake up, if you ever find the courage to leave them, come find me. If you don’t you’re going to get yourself and other good people killed.”

Regulus cringed. “You’re a shame to the family. A shame. I’m ashamed of you. Get out! I hope I never see you again!”

Sirius pushed past him. “You’ll see me next year at Hogwarts, genius.”

He only vaguely remembered getting on the Knight Bus; the swaying and crashing of it, the dark stares of the other patrons as he kicked his feet up on a loose rolling bed and rode it with ease, occasionally taking another swill from the bottle in his hand.

But he definitely remembered getting off, his hand sticking to the metal bar and throbbing in pain as he tripped over his own feet, his trunk banging down the steps behind him. Then the bus jumped away and he stood for a moment on the grass of the Potters’ front lawn, smelling fresh-cut grass and staring idly at the shuttered windows and darkened premises. He gulped again from the rapidly-emptying bottle and tugged his trunk forward. Its corners and chipped wood caught on the grass, but he threw himself into pulling it forward, step by step, swaying this way and that, staggering in a jagged zig-zag across the lawn until he made it up to the front porch. He stood looking at the steps for a moment, then shook his head and let go of the handle. The trunk thudded to the ground. Still gripping the bottle, he groped forward with his other hand, found the porch railing and pulled himself up. He tripped and fell, and crawled the rest of the way before standing back up. The world tilted slightly but he managed to keep his balance while he tried the handle. Locked.

“Ahhh…come on, Prongs…” He grumbled under his breath as he tugged fruitlessly on it. He finally gave up and backed away again, digging in his pockets. His hand gave another wet throb but he ignored it. His heel hit air; he’d forgotten the steps. He fell backwards, flailed, and landed hard, cracking his back on the corner of his trunk. Groaning, he pulled himself on top of it, drank the last drops from the small bottle, and finally managed to pull out a small, square mirror. He held it at arm’s length. “Prongs!” there was no response. “James!” He lifted his face to the sky and groaned, “Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaames. Potter. James! James! _James!_ ”

“Blimey, Sirius, what?” James’ face appeared in the mirror, his head framed by his pillow and his glasses crooked. He rubbed at his eyes.

“Come get the door, Prongs.” Forgetting that it was already empty, Sirius tipped the bottle up again, then squinted at it, feeling betrayed.

“Door?” James yawned hugely. “What you on about? Are you drunk again?”

Sirius groaned. “Door, Prongs, door. D-O-R…er…D-O…whatever. I tried. S’locked.”

“Hold on…” James’s reflection tilted as he sat up in bed. “Padfoot, are you _outside_?”

“I can’t get in the door,” Sirius grumbled. He rested his forehead against his hand and rubbed his eyes.

“ _My_ door?”

“Yes, Prongs, your bloody door. Now come and let me the bloody hell in.”

“Right, just a minute.” James set his mirror down and disappeared.

“Prongs. _Prongs._ ” Sirius shook his own mirror, then stowed it in his pocket when James failed to reappear. He threw his head back as he tried to drink from the empty bottle again. With a grunt of frustration he started to toss it away, then remembered that he didn’t want to litter the Potters’ front lawn, but it was too late and the bottle slipped from his fingers, hit the pavement, and broke into pieces. “Ah, Merlin…” He rubbed his eyes, felt the stickiness of his left hand again.

The door opened. Sirius threw open his arms and started to stand, but the ground wobbled and he fell back down onto his trunk. “Ahh, there he is, breaker of laws and hearts!”

James came down the steps. “I didn’t know you were coming!” he said, bending awkwardly as Sirius flung his open arms around him.

Sirius clung to his neck and whispered in his ear. “My name is burning.”

“What?”

“Smelled it, like hair and plastic.” Sirius giggled. “All burning down, all of it, left the posters stuck, everyone’s as good as dead.”

James peeled Sirius’s arms loose and slipped out of them. He squinted at Sirius in the dark, then brought up his wand. “ _Lumos._ Merlin, Sirius!” He leaned closer, voice alarmed. “What happened to your face? Are you hurt?”

“Eh?” Sirius stared at him, uncomprehending.

“There’s…” James moved his wand from one side of Sirius’s face to the other. “There’s blood all over. Your hair’s a mess. You smell like shit. And your jaw’s bruised—did someone hit you? What happened?”

“Ohhh…” Sirius’s hand let out a timely throb. “S’mine. Didn’t kill anyone. Yet.” He giggled again.

An odd look passed over James’ face. “All right. Inside, come on.” He bent over and put one of Sirius’s arms over his shoulders and pulled him up. Sirius’s face tilted back towards the sky. He opened his mouth, gulping in the night air, and the stars rotated. “Oi,” James protested. “Come on, mate, I can’t carry you and the trunk by myself. You have to help me walk.” Sirius found his feet and put some weight on them.

“Er, Prongs, I broke the…the, er…” he flapped one hand towards the bottle. “Thingy.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Once he was steady, James took his wand in his free hand and Sirius’s trunk rose. “Where’s your wand, anyway?”

“S’in my trousers,” Sirius said. “Get it, James? My wand’s in my trousers. My wand, get it? Ha!”

James chuckled. “I get it, Sirius. Up the steps now, come on.”

They made it across the porch and inside, and started up the staircase of the foyer. The world tilted crazily again. James grunted. Sirius slipped. His trunk thudded to the ground, and then both of James’s arms were around him, pulling him up the stairs.

Sirius’s fingers gripped James’s pajamas, felt the skin of James’s shoulder under his thumb. “Not filth,” Sirius muttered. “Not a filth-lover.”

“What’s that?” James panted as they tottered down the hallway. Sirius realized his feet were mostly dragging and he struggled to stand up.

“Psychotic hag.”

“Er, right…” James kicked open the door to his room and dragged Sirius inside. “Here. You can use my bed tonight. We’ll figure out what else tomorrow, all right?”

Sirius flopped down over James’ rumpled blankets. “Your bed, Prongs. How _scandalous_.” He giggled again.

“Absolutely disreputable,” agreed James, and he grabbed Sirius’s left hand. “Who cut you?”

“I did,” said Sirius to the ceiling. “Stars in their eyes. Ha.” He sat up, grabbed the back of James’s neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re my favorite, Prongs.”

“Uh-huh,” James said distractedly, still examining his hand.

“Moony’s quite good,” said Sirius, resting his forehead on James’s shoulder. “Wormtail’s all right too. But you’ve always been my favorite. He’s not a half-breed.”

“Who’s not?”

“Remus.”

“True,” said James, turning Sirius’s hand over and letting out a low whistle at the sight of his bruised and torn knuckles.

“Remus…siz…” his words were slurring. “More human than all of us.”

“Won’t argue with that,” said James.

“I quite like Remus.”

“I like him myself.”

Sirius lifted his head and kissed James’s cheek again. “But you’re my favorite, Prongs.”

“Where’d you get that bruise on your face?” James asked. “You hit yourself too, did you?”

“Nah, that was Dad.”

James shook his head and dropped his hand. “It’s bad. The blood on your face is from your hand, I assume. Hold on. Don’t go anywhere.” He ran from the room.

Sirius closed his eyes and fell back on the bed.

_Thankless brat. Blood. Filth. Mudwallower. Scumsucker. Dunglicker. Half-breed._

A swell of nausea. He opened his eyes. Alone. In darkness. His veins were burning and cursed. “Prongs.” No response. Panic. Where was he? “ _Prongs._ Prongs!”

James ran back into the room, clutching a wooden box in his hands. “I’m right here, no need to shout.” He set the box down on the bed and flipped it open. He dug around for a moment, then pulled out a small brown bottle, reaching for Sirius’s hand. Sirius moved it away, shutting his eyes against the cruelty of the world

“I want a drink, Prongs.”

“You’ve had enough,” said James. “Give me your hand.”

Sirius shook his head. “Drink. I want to be drunk, Prongs.”

James raised his eyebrows. “You keep kissing me, Sirius. The train of absolutely-completely-pissed left the station several drinks ago. Now give me your hand.”

Sirius scowled. “Why?”

“I’ve got Dittany, that’s why. You’re still bleeding. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No!” Sirius sat up, and the room rotated. He grabbed his hand. “No, no, I need it to, James, want it to.” He pressed his thumb against the deep cut, opening it further. He grunted in pain and shuddered with satisfaction as it began to trickle out faster, over his fingers onto the floor. “All out, need it all out, done with it, done with all of it…pure and none of it…”

_Worthless._

He laughed, his nausea building. “All out, all out. Start over, get it all out. Burning my name on the wall.”

_“She was a mudblood! I don’t care!_ ”

“Sirius,” said James.

“Cursed,” said Sirius, and he kept laughing. “Stupid idiot, he’s trapped in there, won’t get out…” It was inane and senseless. His breath caught in his laughter and staggered out in a sob.

“Sirius.”

He covered his face with his hands, sobbing. Quietly. Tears on his face. The nausea rolled; the room tipped. His knees hit the floor. His hands clutched at the hardwood. He vomited.

“ _Idiot! Careless! Ungrateful child!”_

Sweat stood out on his neck and face as he retched. James was beside him, holding his matted hair back with one hand, gripping his shoulder with the other.

_“I’m ashamed of you!_ ”

He couldn’t breathe. His eyes and face and nostrils were burning, his hand ached, his stomach twisted in pain, he felt the wetness of the floor, and felt an immense shame— he was puking all over James’ room…

“It’s all right.”

He was moaning. “Sorry, sorry, James, sorry…”

“It’s fine, Sirius.”

James pulled him up, set him back on the bed. “Here.” Sirius drank; it was water, cool and tasteless. Useless. He wanted liquor. He needed to be drunker than this—blackout, senseless, careless, reckless. Then it wouldn’t _hurt_ so much. He leaned over and rolled his forehead back and forth over his knees, his hands hanging limply. He felt blood still flowing over his fingers. “Out, all out, all of it…”

“Let me fix it,” said James. “You can’t drain yourself of blood.”

He continued rocking his forehead back and forth. “Pour it out,” he whispered. “Done with it. Done with all of them.”

“You’d die.”

Sirius lifted his head and blinked at him. His eyes felt horribly dry. “That’s better.”

James stood staring at him for a moment. His face convulsed. Then he did something very strange: he sorted through the wooden box, drew out a small knife, held up his own left hand, and with a quick, angry motion, cut the palm deeply. His own blood spurted and began to run over his wrist. “Give me your hand.”

Sirius stared, mesmerized and confused. “What…”

“Give me your hand.”

It wasn’t a request. Sirius held up his own bleeding hand. James clasped it, hard, grimacing as Sirius sucked in his breath in pain. With a quick motion with his wand, a strip of white cloth spun out of the end and wrapped itself tightly around their hands, binding their palms together.

“What…” Sirius shook his head slowly as his hand throbbed. James’ fingers gripped him tight. “What are you doing?”

“I hope you aren’t too pissed to remember this in the morning,” said James, looking at their hands. “Should’ve done it years ago, probably.”

“Unbreakable vow?”

“No. Something stronger.”

“But…what are…” Sirius stared as blood started to well out from between their fingers and around their palms, mixing and dribbling to the floor. Then a realization came to him, swirling with the liquor in his veins and he groaned, “No. No, James, you don’t want it…don’t want their blood, it’s cursed…”

“It won’t be their blood anymore,” James said, matter-of-factly. “It’ll be yours and mine.”

Sirius stared at the blood. His lips moved with no sound.

James continued speaking. “I’ll have Mum and Dad get you the room next to mine, if that’s all right. ‘Course you can have any room you like. Heck, you can have mine if you’re partial to it.” Sirius finally managed to tear his gaze away from the blood and stare at James. He stared back, unblinkingly. “Unless you want to go back.”

He lowered his gaze to the floor. “She burned my name off.” Like burning hair and plastic.

James nodded. “Before, or after?”

“During.”

“You realize we don’t need this?” James nodded at their bound hands. “We were brothers before, understand? But this doesn’t hurt. It’s just a symbol.” James untied the cloth and pulled his hand away from Sirius’s. “We don’t need to share blood, but if we do, it isn’t theirs anymore. You aren’t theirs anymore. You’re mine. All right?”

Sirius lifted his hand in front of his face, watched the blood congealing in the creases of his palm, struggling to comprehend. His stomach still hurt. His vision blurred. He whispered, “All right.”

“No need to drain yourself,” James pressed. “No more bleeding yourself to death.”

Something surged through him—not emotion, more like light. Like a burning presence, rushing through his veins, purging him.

Clean.

He stood up and threw his arms around James, clinging tight to him. The room tilted lazily and James grunted as Sirius sagged against him. He shut his eyes as they smarted and sent burning streams down his cheeks.


End file.
